On a Friday morning when the
flummywisters were yodeling yisters high in the elm trees, the Potato Face
Blind Man came down to his work sitting at the corner nearest the postoffice in
the Village of Liver-and-Onions and playing his gold-that-used-to-be accordion
for the pleasure of the ears of the people going into the postoffice to see if
they got any letters for themselves or their families.

“It is a good day, a lucky
day,” said the Potato Face Blind Man, “because for a beginning I have heard
high in the elm trees the flummywisters yodeling their yisters in the long
branches of the lingering leaves. So—so—I am going to listen to myself playing
on my accordion the same yisters, the same yodels, drawing them like long glad
breathings out of my glad accordion, long breathings of the branches of the
lingering leaves.”

And he sat down in his chair.
On the sleeve of his coat he tied a sign, “I Am Blind Too.” On the top button
of his coat he hung a little thimble. On the bottom button of his coat he hung
a tin copper cup. On the middle button he hung a wooden mug. By the side of him
on the left side on the sidewalk he put a galvanized iron washtub, and on the
right side an aluminum dishpan.

“It is a good day, a lucky
day, and I am sure many people will stop and remember the Potato Face Blind
Man,” he sang to himself like a little song as he began running his fingers up
and down the keys of the accordion like the yisters of the lingering leaves in
the elm trees.

Then came Pick Ups. Always it
happened Pick Ups asked questions and wished to know. And so this is how the
questions and answers ran when the Potato Face filled the ears of Pick Ups with
explanations.

“What is the piece you are
playing on the keys of your accordion so fast sometimes, so slow sometimes, so
sad some of the moments, so glad some of the moments?”

“It is the song the mama
flummywisters sing when they button loose the winter underwear of the baby
flummywisters and sing:

“Fly, you little flummies,

Sing, you little wisters.”

“And why do you have a little
thimble on the top button of your coat?”

“That is for the dimes to be
put in. Some people see it and say, ‘Oh, I must put in a whole thimbleful of
dimes.’”

“And the tin copper cup?”

“That is for the baseball
players to stand off ten feet and throw in nickels and pennies. The one who
throws the most into the cup will be the most lucky.”

“And the wooden mug?”

“There is a hole in the bottom
of it. The hole is as big as the bottom. The nickel goes in and comes out
again. It is for the very poor people who wish to give me a nickel and yet get
the nickel back.”

“The aluminum dishpan and the
galvanized iron washtub—what are they doing by the side of you on both sides on
the sidewalk?”

“Sometime maybe it will happen
everybody who goes into the postoffice and comes out will stop and pour out all
their money, because they might get afraid their money is no good any more. If
such a happening ever happens then it will be nice for the people to have some
place to pour their money. Such is the explanation why you see the aluminum
dishpan and galvanized iron tub.”

“Explain your sign—why is it,
‘I Am Blind Too.’”

“Oh, I am sorry to explain to
you, Pick Ups, why this is so which. Some of the people who pass by here
going into the postoffice and coming out, they have eyes—but they see nothing
with their eyes. They look where they are going and they get where they
wish to get, but they forget why they came and they do not know how to come
away. They are my blind brothers. It is for them I have the sign that reads, ‘I
Am Blind Too.’”… (Paragraphs from Rootabaga
Stories, by Carl Sandburg)